An evening bathed in sin

She smells of seedy attar, as she lures past, the busy town
Swims bare in bacchus, brazen, shies the sun to drown
Her glory, inked in slurs of shame, to a riot of thoughts, akin
By a bawdy bard, who gave her the name, “An evening bathed in sin”

She slithers by a body-shop, with ten and a half women
Where beasts of love, devour spent souls, again and again
Beholds the fury-lit, whiff of flesh, whence the orgies begin
To end anew, and then enmesh, in an evening bathed in sin

She squirts in veins, venom of night, at the hooch-shack
Barren bodies, minds and souls, strapped to strings slack
Puppets of her sly diktats, stricken spirits, laugh away, chagrin
She mothers all forsaken brats, that evening bathed in sin

She sneaks past the fellas, on sidewalks, puffing grass
Half-seduced new puberty, broke in escapades crass She jibes, “Voila!…